


oh mr. sandman, please don't come around

by hargrievances



Series: indefatigable [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse averted, Emotionally Stunted Hargreeves Kids, Exhaustion, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Sister Allison Hargreeves, No Incest, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Sibling Bonding, idk if anyone cares about that anymore, rated t for cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 07:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hargrievances/pseuds/hargrievances
Summary: Five doesn't have insomnia.





	oh mr. sandman, please don't come around

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes I will eventually write about the other Hargreeves sibs, I PROMISE.
> 
> I just happen to have a whole new series of vignettes planned about Five. Oops??

Midnight has become the official-unofficial time the Hargreeves mansion shuts down.

Or at least, that’s when everyone shuts their doors and hunkers down inside their respective rooms in attempt to sleep, or an attempt to quietly process the events of the day (or the events of the past few weeks, of the past few months, and maybe, if they dare, their entire accursed extraordinary lives).

They’re in a good timeline, with some of the best possible outcomes.

Grace is there to fuss over them, Pogo is there to advise and console. Ben is alive, Allison can talk again. Their dad is a pile of ash, dumped unceremoniously in the yard for the feral cats to piss on, which is what he deserves. Vanya’s back at her apartment, but comes over often. Diego’s fixed up his boiler room lodging into something not atrocious, Luther has his own apartment and a job at Griddy’s. Allison has joint custody of Claire, but she’s staying home with Klaus, Ben and Five for now, the Hollywood glamor having lost its luster.

Most everything around them is a better version of the way it had been before, except for a few very weird, very specific things that Five can only chalk up to the ripple effect he’s heard so much about. For instance, the Super Star Bowling Alley is now the Sun Star Bowling Alley, what the hell is up with _that?_

It’s May, and the daytime skies are still blue, the stars still shine at night, the unbroken moon still peers down at Five from where he sits on his windowsill in the mansion that’s still standing. This May is not supposed to exist, according to the Commission, according to all the odds that had been stacked against them, the miserable screw-ups they had made.

Five hates his silk pajamas. He hates his childhood bedroom.

If he were to lay down, he’s sure the pillow would be fluffy and cool, the blankets’ weight on top of him would be so earnestly reassuring– 

He would fall asleep instantly.

He takes another swig of his coffee and carries on writing in his notebook.

…

Klaus is singing in the kitchen. He’s not high or anything, he’s been sober for the whole month of April and the start of this month. Five had forgotten that even without substances making him loopy, Klaus is just… _like this_. His hips sway as he scrambles the eggs in the pan, and he belts out some song Five guesses he hadn’t been around to hear when it first came out.

“There’s only two types of guys out there… ones that can hang with me, and ones that are sc- a- ared…”

It’s endearing, really.

Klaus serves Five and Ben their eggs, still dancing in place. “Everybody _let go_ , we can make a dance floor just like a _cir_ -cus–”

Okay, actually, it’s giving Five a goddamn headache.

He tries to hide the way his jaw is clenching and his eye’s practically twitching, because he’s been trying (key word being _trying_ ) to be nicer to all his siblings now that he’s here with them for good, and they’re set to live out a whole lifetime together.

The eggs are actually really good. Grace’s cooking lessons have been paying off in a major way for Klaus. Five finishes his eggs faster than Ben does.

Klaus stops singing for long enough to eat his own breakfast, but he’s still babbling about random shit, talking with his mouth full. Ben’s used to Klaus’ energy, and he’s able to respond in normal ways, but Five is a hair’s breadth away from stealing another car just so he can drive away from all these attempts at cheerful conversation.

“Klaus,” he hisses, rubbing at his forehead. “Could you please be quiet for just one second?”

Klaus squints at him from across the table. “Such attitude. After I made us this feast? And I even made you your precious coffee, dark and miserable, just how you like it.”

“Are you okay, Five?” Ben asks. “You look tired.”

Five rolls his eyes. “That’s what the coffee’s for.”

“No. That’s what sleep is for,” Ben counters. “Seriously, your eye bags are so big, it looks like someone punched you.”

“I’ll punch _you_ if you don’t drop this right now,” Five retorts, then yawns, immediately rendering his threat nonthreatening. “Then we’ll match,” he continues nevertheless.

“You know what’s really good for insomnia?” Klaus asks, before answering, “Lavender oil. We can get you a diffuser if you want.”

Five gives Klaus his standoffish smile. “I don’t have insomnia.” 

“If you don’t have insomnia, _I can’t see the dead._ ” Klaus gives a wave to whatever presence in the corner of the room only he can see. “There’s no shame in asking for help. Need I remind you, we wouldn’t have saved the world without the power of teamwork.”

“Well, I’m not lying,” Five insists, voice sounding more whiny than he would like. “I promise you that I don’t have insomnia. So stop pushing.”

Five leaves the room with an electric blue pop and allows himself a sigh of relief at getting away from his overbearing brothers. And while he’s certainly not above lying to them, he’s been trying not to as part of that whole… ‘being nicer’ experiment he’s working on. So, he really truly genuinely wasn’t lying, take _that_. Cross his heart and hope to die.

He yawns again, shuddering at the achy feeling of exhaustion in all his limbs.

…

They’re having a family movie night, watching some old nonsense from their childhood. Lindsay Lohan’s twin sister, also played by Lindsay Lohan, is piercing Lindsay Lohan’s ears.

“I really don’t think their fake accents would be convincing enough to make this work,” Ben says between bites of popcorn. “And don’t they have slight physical differences? I know they’re identical twins but… even identical twins have different birthmarks and stuff.”

Allison scoffs. “This movie came out in the 90s. People weren’t going around analyzing kids' movies yet. And didn’t you used to love this movie?”

“Uh, none of this means I don’t still love it,” Ben replies, a little indignant. 

Klaus makes a frustrated noise. “Then why can’t you watch it quietly? Fuck, I’m so glad everyone else can hear how much you yammer now.”

He’s glad Ben is alive, that’s what that translates to. Klaus is glad they’re all watching cheesy nostalgic movies, and so is Five, and so everyone.

Their banter is such a calming thing to be enveloped in. 

They’re in the newly redecorated living room. Gone is the huge portrait of dear ol’ Reggie, gone is all the gaudy and uncomfortable furniture, gone are all the hunting trophies and useless rich person trinkets that their father had taken so much pride in. Now, the room has two big green velvet couches, a couple of houseplants lovingly tended to by Luther, a dark blue rug with little flecks of gold, cozy blankets with the yarn in oodles of colors knitted by Klaus and Diego (whose hands are just as steady with knitting needles as they are with his knives, it turns out)– it’s homey, now.

Vanya looks away from the movie, looks right at Five, for way too long. “What?” he snaps, though not as harshly as he would at any of his other siblings.

“Are you cold?”

Ah, right. His arms are shaking, his whole body’s practically vibrating out of tiredness, but to the uninformed, it must seem like he’s shivering. “No.”

“It’s not that cold in here,” Vanya presses on. Before Five can protest, her hand is against his forehead, feeling for a fever. “Hm. You feel normal.”

“Because ‘m fine, Van. Leave me alone.” His teeth chatter intermittently through this response, and that only makes her more concerned. He wraps a blanket around his shoulders, and it helps by a small margin.

“It’s his insomnia, Vanya,” Klaus chimes in, unhelpfully. “You don’t have to live in denial like this, Five. Just admit you have a problem and we can make you sleepytime tea or whatever your weird little heart desires.”

“I don’t. Have insomnia,” Five says, struggling through the sentence, trying to make his words not sound sloppy or slurred.

Blessedly, Luther breaks it up. “Guys, this is family movie night. Can you talk about this later?” 

Thank Christ for Luther and his reverent love of kitschy 80s and 90s fare.

…

The one thing that Five hadn’t counted on was getting so sleep-deprived that he can’t use his powers. 

He’s still a deadly little thing, he’s still stealthy and quick on his feet, but none of that matters too much right now when all he’s expected to do is chill out around the house and recover from, well, _everything._

His siblings are so used to seeing him teleport everywhere, for incredibly short distances, just because he can’t wait a second longer to get to the places he needs to go, that when all of a sudden, Five is walking everywhere and hardly teleporting, it’s a noticeable problem. Klaus shoots him many an ‘I told you so’ look, Diego and Vanya talk amongst themselves, then stop the second he walks in the room.

Allison regards him with so much Concerned Mom Scrutiny, all the time, that it actually makes Five feel bad. 

It’s three twenty-three am and Five’s sitting at his desk, crossing out an equation that no longer makes a lick of sense. Someone tries to open his door, and then he hears Allison curse quietly when she finds that it’s locked. 

Five opens it, blinking blearily. “Yes?”

His sister lets herself in, hands on her hips, her posture stern, but her face soft. “We need to talk, Five.”

Five sits back down in his desk chair. “Shoot.”

Allison looks skeptical for a second. “I’d ask you to promise you won’t jump away, but I haven’t seen you jump in days. That is… not normal. I– I know sometimes we all get busy or worried, or in our family’s case, overwhelmed with the weight of our pasts, but. You need to let us help you. You need to get some sleep.”

A traitorous yawn creeps out of Five’s mouth at the mere mention of that forbidden word in his vocabulary. He frowns. “I don’t have insomnia. Klaus keeps saying I do, but he doesn’t know shit.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s this then?” Allison gestures to his notebooks and pencils, scattered all around his desk. She sits on his perfectly made, hardly-touched bed. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. I’m sure it was too horrible for any of us to comprehend. I’d understand, if you get nightmares after all that. Maybe we can get you seeing a therapist?”

Five shakes his head. “I don’t get nightmares. And I don’t have insomnia.”

“Okay. You don’t have insomnia. But when’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

Five thinks about this for a good long while. Allison’s not going to like the answer, so he redirects. “I sleep for an hour and a half every night, give or take. It adds up. I’m a mathematical genius, you know.”

Allison looks like she’s praying to every single deity for patience. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Five stays silent. His brain’s a little fuzzy at the edges and his arguing isn’t as sharp as usual.

“Five.”

His teeth are chattering again, and his throat’s choking up with this stupid sudden urge to cry. He swallows, blinks harder.

“Five, so help me, I will rumor it out of your mouth.” She’s not joking. Her own experience with therapy has granted Allison the self-knowledge and self-forgiveness to use her gift every now and then, if only when it’s for the greater good.

 _Fuck._ “Uh. When I was injured? In March. When we went to Harold Jenkins’ house and I had that shrapnel wound and I passed out.”

Allison’s jaw drops. “It’s almost _June._ That was two months ago.” She runs her hands through her own hair, lets her hands drop back down to her sides in a show of stressed-out thinking. “If you don’t have insomnia, _why do you never sleep?_ ”

“Hm. By definition, insomnia is the ‘inability to sleep.’ I could sleep if I wanted to. I don’t want to.” He shakes his head again, and it makes him dizzy. “Everything is so good right now, Allison. We stopped the apocalypse. Why would I want to close my eyes and risk all _this_ –” he waves his arms to indicate the two of them talking, the room, the mansion, all of the world he’s always loved (even when it was terrible)  
“ – all of this having been a dream.”

His heart physically aches. “I used to hallucinate back then. In the bad future. I’d imagine you all there with me, I’d imagine us playing games again like we used to, I’d dream with my eyes open, dream when I fell asleep at night that you were there, and then I’d wake up and be alone. In a fucking hellscape.”

Allison places a careful hand on his shoulder, relieved when he doesn’t flinch. “Honestly? That’s sound reasoning. You’ve always been so logical, haven’t you?”

Five gives her his best indignant glare at being talked to like a child, but it really doesn’t come through as mean as he wants.

“Would it help if you slept in the same room as one of us? I know you’re not a kid, _I know_ – but maybe if you were closer to someone, you could… wake up and immediately see that we’re still here.”

It’s a good idea.

Five needs to sleep. 

He actually does know that. 

Maybe he’s sick of his brain functioning at 1/100th of its capacity, and his lack of powers. Maybe he knows somewhere, deep down inside, that this is exactly what he needs, that he didn’t survive for decades off cockroaches and extremely stale scraps of food and a high-paying murder fest of a career to keep pushing his family away, to keep denying himself their care.

So he tells her. “That’s… not the worst idea.”

“No, huh?” Allison’s shoulders slacken with relief. “I know for a fact that Ben and Klaus would understand. Um. Whoever you’d like to move in with, that’s fine. I can go ask them right now, I–”

“You,” Five blurts out. “I wouldn’t mind. If it were you.”

Allison’s surprised for a moment, then the surprise melts into a tiny little smile. “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to me since you got back.”

Five laughs. The bubbly little sound makes Allison smile wider.

Walking down the hallway to his sister’s room feels like it happens in the same haze he’s been in since March, but there’s something the slightest bit lighter about it now. Like it’s not an endless abyss of delirious sore tired heachache spaceouts anymore, but a tunnel, with an end to it.

Allison offers to get her sleeping bag from camping trips with Claire out of a downstairs closet, but her new queen bed’s big enough for her and him and probably Klaus or Vanya, if they wanted to have a real old-school sleepover.

“Okay, and just to be sure–” Allison begins, as Five arranges his allotted pillows the way he likes them. 

She digs a box of tapes out from under the bed. “I used to have insomnia– _actual_ involuntary insomnia– when I first left home, after Ben… yeah. And the one thing that finally cured it was these.” She gives the box a gentle shake. “They’re this fictional radio show about this town where weird things happen. Weird even by our standards.” She pops one in the tape player. “They always made me feel less alone.”

This feels wrong to a part of Five’s brain. Like closing his eyes is a trap, like his body’s so stupid and weak as it tries to lull him into a false sense of security. It’s still not impossible that this has all been a beautiful, beautiful fantasy.

But he keeps his eyes on Allison and his ears on the quiet voice on the tape.

His sister is still there, she’s still alive. “You know you don’t have to lock your door, right?” she says, voice just beginning to wear at the edges from her own tiredness. “We’ll always protect you.”

“M-hm,” is all Five can manage to say. The show on the tapes is funny. Allison hadn’t told him it would be like this.

It makes him think about the universe, and it makes him feel understood, and before he knows it, he’s relaxing, then he’s waking up to a clock that reads 9 am.

**Author's Note:**

> yes this fic DOES have a lot of references to things I like (late 2000s Britney Spears, The Parent Trap, AND Welcome to Night Vale).
> 
> the tapes they listen to at the end are probably Night Vale, Night Vale always helps me fall asleep when I can't, and I feel like Five would like the nihilist humor in it.
> 
> the tua universe doesn't have smartphones or computers in 2019 though so I had to get creative.


End file.
